


we'll all float on alright

by Hibou_Gris



Category: Iron Fist (TV)
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Brothers, Friendship, Gen, Missing Scene, Post-Episode: s02e07 Morning of the Mindstorm, References to Addiction
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-29
Updated: 2019-01-29
Packaged: 2019-10-18 16:37:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,659
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17584430
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hibou_Gris/pseuds/Hibou_Gris
Summary: Ward checks in on Danny. Aftermath of Morning of the Mindstorm.





	we'll all float on alright

**Author's Note:**

> This is a small missing scene story between Ward and Danny set immediately after season 2, episode 7 Morning of the Mindstorm. The title is from "Float On" by Modest Mouse.

It’s been a while now since Ward’s had a hangover, but really, it’s just like falling off a bicycle. He’d left the NA meeting before it broke up (before Bethany saw him), had gone home and passed out on his bed. Around midnight, he wakes up in time to stagger to the bathroom and vomit. When he’s done retching, he hauls himself over to the sink to wash the sour taste out his mouth and drink three glasses of water one after the other; then he goes back to bed, still drunk. Sometime before dawn he wakes up again, sick and dizzy and too hot, heart pounding in his chest. He kneels over the toilet and dry-heaves, stomach roiling but empty.

He lies on the bathroom floor for a while, his face flat on the cold tile. He feels like shit. He has bruises and a split lip. He’s fucked up spectacularly, and the worse part is that it all feels so goddamn _familiar_  that it’s almost comforting.

Eventually he gets up. He drinks another glass of water and doesn’t throw up, so he goes to the kitchen, makes a cup of coffee and drinks it black, eats the leftover take-out he finds in the fridge. He sends Katie an e-mail telling her that he’s sick and won’t make it in today, which is more plausible deniability than he’d provided her with yesterday. He takes an Advil (he pretends not to wish that it were something stronger), drinks more water, and goes back to bed.

His head is aching, and he buries his face in his pillow, tries not to think about anything. He drops back into sleep, and wakes up at noon, feeling marginally less shitty. He drags his phone off the nightstand - he should check his e-mail, make sure nothing is blowing up at work and at least attempt to be functional.

Danny had sent him a text late last night: _im home from the hospital now fyi_

Danny texts like a fifteen-year-old and usually it drives Ward nuts, but right now the much bigger issue is that Danny’s done a runner from the hospital with a shattered leg, and Ward is going to fucking kill him.

Ward texts back: _What the hell, since when? Thought you were supposed to stay til the end of the week?_

Ward waits impatiently, but Danny doesn’t answer, and doesn’t answer, and then doesn’t pick up when Ward calls him.

“Fuck,” Ward says. He’s going to have to go to Chinatown.

*

He spends the ride over to Danny and Colleen’s place with his eyes closed and his head resting against the window. He’s unshaven, wearing gym clothes and sunglasses and clutching a giant coffee, and the driver doesn’t even bother trying to talk to him.

At the dojo, he chugs the last of the coffee and tosses the cup, then makes his way up to the door and starts knocking. “Danny! It’s me, open up!”

After a minute, Danny opens the door. He’s in a t-shirt and sweats, his hair sticking up on one side, pillow creases on his face and dark circles under his eyes. He looks exhausted. He looks, in point of fact, even shittier than Ward does, which is saying something.

“Why aren’t you in the hospital?” Ward says, because fuck pleasantries, he’s too hungover to be civilized.

Danny scowls at him. “What happened to your face?”

“I asked first,” Ward says, and Danny rolls his eyes and turns away, walking towards the bedroom. He’s limping, but not too badly, and that eases something tight and worried in Ward’s chest. He follows Danny in, taking off his sunglasses and coat, and tossing the coat on one of the hooks near the door.  

Danny disappears into the bedroom, but his voice drifts out from inside. “The hospital sucked. There was no reason to stay there.”

“Hospitals always suck, that’s not - ” Ward stops, looking around the dojo. “Why did you move all your furniture against the walls?”

Danny emerges from the bedroom, pulling on a hoodie, and Ward sees the bandages wrapped around his knuckles.“Colleen’s training me.”

“She’s training you,” Ward says. This better not be going where he thinks it’s going. “For what?”

“I need to be able to compensate for my injury the next time I face Davos,” Danny says, walking slowly over to the kitchen, not looking at Ward. “Do you want something to drink? Water, tea?”

“Do I really need to remind you that the last time you faced Davos, he broke your leg so badly you needed emergency surgery?” Ward says, keeping his voice as flat as he can. He’d rather be screaming, he can’t fucking believe Danny.

Danny grabs a glass off the shelf and slams it onto the counter. “Yeah, thanks, I was there. Davos is out in the city, killing people - ”

Ward steps closer, leaning his hands against the kitchen island. “So the police can deal with him. We already had this conversation, and I let you go, and look what happened!”

“You didn’t _let_ me do anything,” Danny says, spinning to face him.

“And what does Colleen think about this?” Ward says, playing his trump card, and yeah, there it is - Danny’s face shutters and he looks away.

“That’s between me and Colleen,” Danny says quietly. His shoulders slump and he says, “Ward, can you just drop it? I don’t - I’m tired of fighting.”

Ward bites down on all the viciously sarcastic things he’d like to say to _that_. Instead he says, “You should still be in the hospital,” but it’s half-hearted and they both know it. Danny turns back to the fridge and takes out the water jug, pours a glass of water for himself, then fills another glass and hands that one to Ward. Ward glares at him, but takes it.

“I’m sorry I scared you,” Danny says, and this time it’s Ward who has to look away. He hates when Danny sees through him like that, like he’s so goddamn obvious. Bethany and Joy both do it too, but lately Danny is the only one who still seems to like what he sees.

“Have you even had lunch yet?” Ward asks, going for a sharp left turn subject change.

He’s pretty sure Danny is making a very non-Zen face at him, but all he says is, “No. I was going to make soup, but I fell asleep.”

“Sit down, I’ll make it,” Ward says, then off of Danny’s skeptical look, “Jesus, I can make soup, Danny. You just empty the can in the pot and warm it up.”

“We don’t have any canned soup,” Danny says.

Ward stares blankly at him for a second - although why is he even surprised, Danny and Colleen probably make all their food from scratch with ethically-sourced, organic ingredients - but then Danny cracks a smile. “There’s some instant ramen in the cupboard, though.”

“Okay, great,” Ward says. “Ramen I can handle.” He puts down his water and goes to rummage through the cupboard that Danny’s pointing at; the ramen package labels are all written in what he assumes is Japanese, so he just grabs two of the same color. Danny’s at the sink, filling a saucepan; Ward takes it from him and gestures towards the bar stools with his chin. “Sit. Rest your leg.”

“I’m really fine,” Danny says, exasperated, but he relinquishes the pot and walks around the island to pull out one of the stools and sit down. He does seem much better than Ward thought he would be - it’s been a few days since Ward’s been able to make it to the hospital, and Danny’s improved a lot since then. All the PT sessions, he guesses, in addition to whatever weird chi healing thing Danny claims he can still do.

“How’s the brace?” Ward asks, putting the pot of water on the stove and turning the burner on high.

“It’s good, really good,” Danny says. “Ward - thank you. Colleen told me that you made sure I got the best.”

Ward shakes his head. “It’s your company, your money, your brace. I just lit a fire under some asses to get things moving.” He picks up his glass of water and walks over to sit next to Danny on the other stool.

“Still - thanks,” Danny says. His voice is warm, and Ward busies himself with taking a long drink. His headache is still going strong; he could use the hydration. He can feel Danny looking at the side of his face.

“So what happened?” Danny asks.

If he tells Danny he doesn’t want to talk about it, Danny will probably let it go for now, won’t push him any further. Ward puts his glass down carefully, takes a deep breath and lets it out. “I went to a bar, got drunk, and picked a fight with the bartender.”

“Oh,” Danny says.

“Yeah, ‘oh,’” Ward says. “And the cherry on top of that shit sundae? Bethany showed up, and I was a complete asshole to her.” He stops there, doesn’t tell Danny the rest of it, what he heard Bethany say at the meeting. He’s not ready to even think about that yet.

“Crap,” Danny says. “I’m sorry, Ward.” Danny’s face is screwed up in sympathy, more than Ward really deserves.

“Yeah, well,” Ward says, “it was only a matter of time before I messed things up with her.” He gets up to go check on the pot on the stove-top. It’s not boiling yet, but he starts ripping open the ramen packages anyway, fishing out the seasoning packets and dropping them on the counter.

“I don’t think that’s true,” Danny says. “Did you apologize?”

“She’s probably sick of hearing me apologize by now.”

“So that’s a no.”

“Look -” Ward says with a sigh, then turns to look at Danny. “Is there anything else you want in this?”

Danny blinks at him in confusion, so Ward adds, “In the soup. Hot sauce?”

Danny gives him a long look, clearly not impressed, but says, “Yeah, there’s chili oil in the cupboard. And mushrooms and tofu in the fridge, and maybe some green onions left.”

“Right,” Ward says, and opens the refrigerator. He doesn’t bother with the tofu, but he pulls out a bag of shiitake mushrooms and a few limp green onions. Danny points him at the knife block, and then at the shelf where the chopping board is tucked away.

It’s strange, trying to navigate around Danny and Colleen’s kitchen; Ward’s only been to their place a few times before, and he’s definitely never tried to cook anything here - he barely cooks in his own kitchen. Even with Danny watching and giving directions, it feels uncomfortably intimate, like he’s intruding in their home. He rinses the vegetables at the sink, then starts chopping the green onions.

Danny says abruptly, “Was it because of me that you went to the bar? Because of what happened to me?”

“What? No,” Ward says, startled. He drops the knife and turns around to stare at Danny, who’s sitting with his arms wrapped around himself, looking tense and guilty.

“Christ, Danny - no. I -” Danny doesn’t seem convinced, so Ward makes himself finish. “It wasn’t because of you, or Joy, it was because I’m an addict, and it was easier to find a bar than pills.”

Ward’s face is burning, but when Danny looks up Ward meets his eyes without flinching. “Trust me, Danny, you’re not responsible for my bad decisions.”

After a moment, Danny nods. “You’re not responsible for _my_  bad decisions, either, okay?”

Ward grimaces, but says, “Yeah, okay,” and Danny gives him a tiny smile.

The pot is bubbling on the stove-top, so Ward reaches over to put the heat on low and drop in the ramen noodles.

“So you talked to Joy?” Danny asks.

Ward goes back to chopping the green onions. “Yeah. That night.” He doesn’t have to specify which night he means.  

“How did it go?” Danny’s trying to sound neutral, but isn’t entirely succeeding.

“Not great,” Ward says shortly. He finishes with the onions and moves on to slicing up the mushrooms. He can feel his shoulders tensing up, waiting for Danny’s next question, but Danny doesn’t say anything else. Maybe that wound is still too raw for both of them.

Ward drops the mushrooms into the pot, and pokes at the noodles with his knife, separating them from their clumps. He opens the cutlery drawer to grab some spoons and forks, and chopsticks for Danny.

“Here, let me help,” Danny says, pushing himself up from his seat.

“Hey, sit, sit,” Ward says, but Danny ignores him, coming around the island to get two bowls down from the shelf, and pull out the chili oil and a bottle of soy sauce from the cupboard.

“You should call Bethany,” Danny says, setting the bowls down next to the stove. “Apologize. Be honest with her.”

“Honest,” Ward says. He fishes a noodle out of the pot with a fork and samples it - they’re pretty much done.

“You know, figure out the truth, and then say it out loud.” Danny lays out the condiments and utensils on the island before circling around to sit back down on his stool.

“Don’t be a smart-ass,” Ward says, and Danny grins at him.

Ward turns off the heat on the stove and dumps the seasoning packets into the pot, gives the whole thing a few good stirs. He pours half the pot into the two bowls, using a fork to divide the noodles evenly, then puts a handful of green onions on top of each one. He sets the bowls down on the island; Danny immediately tugs his bowl closer and starts spooning chili oil into it. Ward sits down and takes the soy sauce for his own bowl - he doesn’t have Danny’s crazy high spice tolerance.

“It’s great, Ward, thank you,” Danny says through a mouthful of noodles.

“No problem,” Ward says. It feels stupid to be thanked for making instant ramen, but he keeps that thought to himself and tries a spoonful of broth and green onions. It’s pretty good, and as soon as it hits his stomach he’s immediately starving - he hasn’t eaten anything since the microwaved leftovers at ass o’clock this morning. He grabs a fork and joins Danny in shoveling noodles into his mouth, and they eat in comfortable silence for a while.

“I’ll talk to Bethany,” Ward says eventually. “I’ll try to be honest. I’ve _been_  trying.” He stabs a mushroom with his fork. “Sometimes honesty isn’t enough.”

“Yeah.” Danny stares down at his mostly-empty bowl. “Colleen - Colleen didn’t want to train me.”

“I’m shocked,” Ward says.

Danny aims a kick at his ankle. “Shut up. She stopped teaching, she closed the dojo, but I asked her to do it anyway. For me. Because I need -”

Danny stops mid-sentence, shaking his head; there’s something strained and restless in his face, and Ward thinks about dragons, metaphorical and otherwise, about Danny saying that the Fist wasn’t a part of him, it _was_  him. “Danny -”

“Anyway,” Danny says, interrupting him, “she’s training me, so I’ll be ready. But,” he looks down, fiddling with his chopsticks, “it kind of - we’re not really okay, right now.”

“I’m sorry,” Ward says. He’s got no follow-up, he’s the absolute last person who should be offering relationship advice to anyone ever.  

“It was my choice,” Danny says, and shrugs, but he’s still twisting the chopsticks in his hands, his mouth pulled tight.

He looks so miserable that Ward leans over, knocking their shoulders together gently. “Come on, you guys are solid, right? This is probably just a speed-bump. A funny story at your wedding.”

“Yeah, right.” Danny leans back against him, pressing their shoulders together, and Ward lets him, takes some of Danny’s weight.

They stay like that for a long time, sitting quietly, long enough that by the time Danny moves away, the soup’s gone cold.

~


End file.
